Bearing the mark

Lately a new marking has emerged with domestic violence victims whereby the victim, if still actively being abused and in danger, discreetly draws a black dot in their palm.   black dot campaignThe Black Dot Campaign has given victims hope without uttering a word, and has received mixed opinions because even something as small as a black speck could place a victim at risk if the abuser knows what it means.

I was thinking heavily about this campaign today, weighing its risks, and about the devastation of human trafficking victims being tattooed as property.

One of my close friends has a deep personal investment in spreading word about this inhumane treatment.  I truly applaud her.

Sexual abuse and mistreatment, as common as it seems to be portrayed anymore, is nonetheless difficult to talk about.  Yet she’s out there, boldly spreading the word to anyone and everyone within cyber earshot.  I wrote a book about it, she’s campaigning awareness.  We make a good survivor team and I’m glad she’s in my corner.

If you see someone bearing the mark, do the right thing.  Help.

 

 

 

Champ Dog Philosophy

Even though I haven’t been posting here lately, I’ve been busy elsewhere because it really helps reinforce my own recovery process.  So many changes have transpired naturally which would not have been possible without recovery writing.

Magic Man and I married on one of the worst days of my old life, in late spring of this year.   My life has become our life, and that day which used to fill me with dread has become our day to look forward to.  A free-spirited tie-dye wedding, complete with cherry blossoms chucked at us from my sweet baby, whose face nearly cracked grinning so much.  She is blossoming from his gentle nature and love for us.

I’m slowly returning to my art and enjoying simple pleasures that we take for granted, like sunsets and evening walks.  I never enjoyed either until this year because with the evening, came the fears.  Now I have my husband on one side and our energetic pup on the other.  Dogs are amazing at helping quell a PTSD trigger, and she’s taught me so much in such a short time.  What a little champ she is.

My philosophy lately has been this:

I’ve learned much about what I will endure when I’m confronted.  The line is boldly etched in boundary setting blueprints but I couldn’t see it at first.  My boundaries were so badly skewed, that just rolling over into a ball of disconnect and letting bad things happen was the safest option.  But I’ve changed.  I surprised myself the other day.  I didn’t run.

Later I had to analyze it. “…boy, that was stupid, I could’ve really gotten hurt…”  but at the same time, I felt more whole than I’d felt in a long time.  That was a glimmer of the old me, right there, in a temporary moment of champ dogness.